


Easy O

by AvaRosier



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Modern AU, fyi they have sex with other people too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fashion student Lexa likes her next door neighbor well enough.  Even though she has noisy sex frequently and Lexa maybe kinda wishes it were her instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy O

Lexa had an exam for her Textile Marketing class in the morning, and she was trying to revise her notes one last time before bed. Not that the late hour on a Thursday night seemed to be stopping her next door neighbor who seemed intent on waking up the entire building with her moans. Glaring at the wall separating their apartments, Lexa wished for the hundredth time that she didn’t live in a tiny one-bedroom, even if it was close to Parsons.

This was the _third time_ in so many weeks.

A half hour later, Lexa heard murmuring voices and the sound of a door opening. Unable to suppress her curiosity, irritated or no, she pushed away from her desk and flew out of her bedroom towards the front door. Peeking through the keyhole, she could just make out a petite young woman about her age with dark blonde hair pulled back in braids and a tomboyish physique. Ah, she had been last week’s flavor, too. Braids paused outside Lexa’s door and turned to embrace another woman with lighter blonde hair who was clad in (probably) nothing but a white silk robe with cherry blossoms on it.

Now, _she_ was Lexa’s next door neighbor.

Clarke.

Lexa doesn’t want to, nor does she make an effort to get to know the people living in the building. But that doesn’t stop some of them from persisting in carrying on conversations with her while she’s picking up her mail or doing her laundry in the basement. Monty Green from 217 liked to natter on about all the things he knew about the residents while he worked on his complicated chemistry homework. From this, Lexa now knew that her neighbor’s name was Clarke and that she was an art student at Pratt.

Lexa could have told Monty that Clarke liked to grab ahold of the metal headboard of her bed when she was riding someone, but she didn’t.

Clarke and Braids kissed each other’s cheek before parting ways. Lexa couldn’t help the funny feeling in her belly when she saw the wide, exhilarated smile on Clarke’s face. Finally, Clarke headed back into her apartment and Lexa backed away from the peephole, huffing as she headed back to her notes.

 

Two weeks later, it was someone different. This time, it was Saturday afternoon and Clarke and a man with the long brown hair were canoodling by the mailboxes. Lexa had just returned from a fabric store with enough material to work on one of her ideas. She couldn’t help the way her eyes darted down to Clarke’s legs, exposed as they were in the sundress she wore, as she and the man laughed at each other and lazily kissed. Lexa was much too close to them as she unlocked her mailbox and grabbed the two envelopes waiting for her.

Her curls had probably brushed against Clarke’s bare arm and the blonde twisted around in her companion’s embrace. “Oh, hey, Lexa right?” She scrunched her nose and stepped to the side. “Sorry, we were probably in your way! This is Finn, he goes to the Film Academy. Finn, this is Lexa, she lives next door to me.” Clarke gestured between them, making introductions. Finn gave her a little wave and stuck his hand out for a shake. “Nice to meet you.”

As much as Lexa might indulge her antisocial tendencies, she wasn’t going to be unfairly rude. (If his eyes reminded her of Costia’s, Lexa would vehemently deny it.)

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” She told him politely before nodding at Clarke. “I’m in a bit of a rush, so goodbye.” She brushed past Clarke on her way towards the stairs. Obviously, she wasn’t actually in a hurry. There was nothing she had planned for the rest of her day except playing with the new fabrics she had just acquired. But, of course, she had been hoping for some peace and quiet. From the way Clarke’d had Finn pressed up against the bank of mailboxes, Lexa would get neither. Her day was ruined.

Maybe, maybe not.

Lexa couldn’t help it. She was curious. She opened her windows and let in the warm spring breeze and slipped off her Keds so she could lie down on top of her bed and listen intently for the merest noise from next door. For a while, there was nothing, and Lexa had just about drifted off when she heard it. A quivering moan. The breath was sucked out of her lungs and her eyes flew open, her entire body tensed for the next sound. Before long, it came again, and with it, words.

“ _Oh god, your tongue_.”

“ _Yes, theretherethere…”_

Lexa listened, rapt, as Clarke descended into incoherency over the space of a half-hour. She deduced that Finn was in the process of going down on her and from the sounds of it he was doing an excellent job. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from closing her eyes and imagining the sight of Clarke lying on her own bed, those pale toned legs akimbo and dress pooled around her waist as a dark hair bent over her pelvis.

How long had it been since Lexa had been with anyone? A twinge of sadness gripped her chest but Lexa pushed it aside as she slowly unbuttoned her jeans and slipped her hand beneath the band of her panties. Months. Too many months.

There was a shocked little wail that preceded Clarke’s orgasm. Lexa rubbed her fingers over the hood of her clitoris as she listened to the lower, sustained moans as Finn worked Clarke through it all. Lexa had already been wet from listening to it all and by the time Clarke had Finn on his back and the metal headboard was creaking and slamming into the wall from the force of her motions, she was inhaling sharply and holding her breath as her own orgasm crested over her.

She was pretty sure she heard Finn over there a couple more times before the two parted ways. It was a month more after that before Clarke had new guests. Lexa was horrified to recognize the couple that left Clarke’s place in late June. The tall man with the shaved head had his arm around his brunette girlfriend as they waved goodbye and called out to Clarke.

Lincoln _and_ Octavia? Lexa wasn’t sure if she was only horrified or if she was also impressed. At any rate, she was going to have to do her best not to gawk at Octavia when she saw her next.

Lexa didn’t have a problem with Clarke having sex. A lot of it. Nor did she have a problem with Clarke’s varied and fairly frequent partners. It’s clear the other woman enjoys open relationships and Lexa has to admire her for that. She herself wasn’t capable of that—she has had one-night stands, but she much prefers to be monogamous for however long the relationship lasts.

She just really hates being forced to acknowledge that she wants something more than her celibate existence. And even more than that, she hates that she might specifically want that something more with Clarke. Which, given that they were neighbors, was probably not a good idea.

 

A week after Clarke came home with a gorgeous redhead in a short skirt, Lexa found herself knocking on her neighbor’s door.  It swung open and Clarke stood there, hair in a messy topknot and her loose shirt dirtied with paint. Several streaks caked her arms and fingers. There was a smudge on her cheek.

“Lexa, hey! What’s up?”

Lexa forgot why she’d come over for a moment. “I need your help.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I have a few pieces I’m working on and my mannequin isn’t enough, I need to see how they fit on a real person.” That wasn’t a lie, Lexa really was having trouble with her project. And if Clarke was the nearest, best, quickest solution to her problems, why shouldn’t she come to her?

Clarke was a bit taken aback but she nodded easily enough. “Sure, no problem. And then she was closing the door behind her and following Lexa back into her apartment. The dining table doubled as her workspace and there were pieces of leather and distressed denim lying everywhere. Clarke made a beeline for the materials and the sketches near them.

“Monty mentioned you were at Parsons. These look really good,” she said, fingers tracing the designs appreciatively. Lexa felt her cheeks flush at the compliment. It felt oddly intimate like this, having Clarke look at her work. “Very postapoc grunge.”

“It’s something that appeals to me. The concept of necessity.”

“I like it.” Clarke smiled. “So what did you need me to wear?”

Lexa eyed the loose button-down Clarke was sporting. “Well, you’d need to take that off. Your tank top should be good enough for me to put the belt over.” She reached over the table and plucked up a cage-like corset belt.

Clarke promptly began to unbutton her top and fling it over the back of a chair before raising her arms for Lexa. Stepping closer to Clarke, Lexa placed the belt at her waist and reached around to buckle it in place at the small of her back.

She had severely, severely miscalculated.

Not on the belt, of course not. But if she had thought she could stand inches away from Clarke, smell the scent of her shampoo and feel the soft tickle of her breath on Lexa’s own cheek, and be unmoved, she had been seriously mistaken. Compounding the awkward intimacy of their positions was the very visible fact that Clarke wasn’t wearing a bra under her tank top, and in the process of straightening the belt, Lexa’s knuckles couldn’t avoid brushing against the underside of her breasts.

“There.” She said, stupidly.

The small, sweet smile Clarke sent her had Lexa stepping back and breaking the spell between their eyes. “I just need to make some changes to the trim of the belt and make sure it follows the line of the hip.”

“No problem,” Clarke shrugged, the action bringing Lexa’s eyes back to her chest. “Just let me know what you need me to do.”

Lexa bit back any words on the tip of her tongue and instead picked up her tools and got down on her knees before Clarke. This was probably going to make its way into her dreams that night.

In spite of the effect Clarke had on her, Lexa managed to not drop any of her tools as she made tweaks to the belt. Surprisingly, she found herself initiating conversation. Asking Clarke how long she had to go before she graduated and whether she had tried the new taco truck that parked over on 6th Avenue. Conversation began to flow easily and Lexa was disappointed when she realized her belt no longer needed any more work after half a hour.

“Thank you.”

Clarke didn’t seem to be in a rush as she pulled her shirt back on. “I used to model in art classes for the extra cash, so posing for half a hour isn’t that big of a deal to me. Hey, if you need me to model stuff again, just let me know. It’s fun being a part of someone else’s art.”

The offer sent a rush of warmth through her and Lexa smiled, nodding a fraction. “I will. And if you need help with yours, maybe I can be of assistance.”

“I just might take you up on that.” Clarke shot a mischievous wink over her shoulder as she walked though the door. Lexa closed it, listened for the opening and closing of the door next to hers, then she let her forehead hit the painted wood with a thud.

_Way to go, Lexa._

 

She tries to get past this thing she has for Clarke by going out one night with the express purpose of getting drunk and hooking up with someone. Maybe she wants to get over this…sudden infatuation...maybe she wants to make Clarke think about her the way Lexa has been thinking of her for the past few months.

At any rate, she unbraids her hair and lets her curls fly wild, pulls on a pair of high-waisted shorts that she’d altered, and a vest without a bra underneath, and heads out to one of her favorite haunts.

PAUNA was one of the newer lesbian nightclubs in Manhattan and it always had good music and decent drinks. Lexa knew one of the bartenders there and as she made her way down the stairs and across the crowded floor towards the bar, she recognized Anya’s lanky form. Pressing her way to an open spot, Lexa waited for the woman to be done with the cocktail she was pouring into a glass.

“Hey there. Lexa?”

She was startled to see the familiar face of Finn as he paused by her spot at the bar. “You work here, too?”

Finn shrugged. “Helps pay the bills, too. What can I get you?”

“Alabama Slammer, please.”

“Coming right up.” Finn tapped the hardwood before heading off to get started on her order. Anya moved into the space he’d just occupied.

“Lexa. You reek of desperation.”

“Anya.” She greeted her friend with a baleful glare. “I came here with a goal, and I don’t intend to dance around it.”

Anya shrugged and popped a cherry into her mouth. “I know you, little rabbit. You’ll need something stronger than whatever the pretty boy is making to get you to loosen up.”

“Pretty boy? You must practically be best friends by now.” Lexa shot back. Of course, it was hard to carry on a droll conversation with Anya when they were both shouting to be heard over the music.

Anya’s snort of disdain was interrupted by Finn returning and setting her drink down. “We are. Didn’t you notice the friendship bracelets?” He winked at them and took Lexa’s proffered $5.

“Keep the change.” She told him before arching her eyebrow challengingly at Anya as she backed away towards the dance floor.

The air-conditioning did little to dispel the July heat permeating the building from the outside, and the mass of bodies writing on the dance floor didn’t help either. Lexa might be overly serious most of the time, preferring to be emotional or expressive in private, but in the relative anonymity offered by the nightclub, she could let go for a while. She sipped at the cocktail and began to undulate her body to the melody.

One more drink in her and she was practically spinning around under the lights, letting her hair fly out in an arc from her head. And then another body was moving up in her space and a brunette with dark eyes and an intent expression was pulling Lexa’s body closer to hers. She’s about Lexa’s age and as far from Clarke in looks as you could get and Lexa is feeling just free enough to go with the flow.

Her name is Cora and Lexa sticks around for one more drink from a disapproving Anya before asking Cora if she wants to come back to her place.

One night-stands like these don’t really go the way you see them in tv or movies. There’s the whole ‘leaving the club and heading for the subway, sitting awkwardly next to each other while making drunken small talk’ thing before you actually get inside the door and feel less self-conscious enough to start going at it.

But it was enough for her. Cora had been somewhat shy on the subway; holding Lexa’s hand and smiling sideways at her. Now, she was nearly feral as she kissed Lexa against her front door. There were hands in her hair, teeth against her neck, and a thigh grinding in between her own. Lexa enjoyed the sensation of being wanted for a minute before she paused the kiss. “I have a better wall in my room,” she told her.

 

Maybe it was the prospect of imagined voyeurism that had her coming three times that night.

 

The next time Lexa ran into Clarke in the building, Clarke ducked her head down and there was a visible blush on her cheeks. That simultaneously pleased and mollified Lexa, who wondered if Clarke hadn’t even realized how thin the walls were before. They made small talk once more, but their body language was more jerky than it ought to have been if they were just friendly neighbors and Lexa realized there truly was something hanging in the balance between them.

She had just about built up the guts to ask Clarke over for dinner one night when the knock came on her door. Given that it was a lazy Thursday afternoon, muggy and slow-crawling, Lexa had her hair piled high on top of her head and wore a loose fitting muscle shirt with her cutoff shorts for maximum cooling factor. She saw Clarke through the eyehole and tried to not seem too eager when she swung the door open.

“Clarke?”

“Hey!” She exclaimed brightly, looking about as cooled-off as Lexa was. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“You’re not.”

“Well, I need to take you up on that offer you made me last month. About modelling for me? I have this project for a summer class and my model backed out on me—“

“I’ll do it.” Lexa told her earnestly. She really didn’t have anything that needed doing that afternoon. And maybe she just wanted to be around Clarke for a while. Clarke worried her lower lip in between her teeth.

“The thing is, it kinda has to be a nude portrait.” Lexa was supremely proud of the way she didn’t lose her composure at that. Well. Maybe she could work with this.

“That won’t be a problem, Clarke.” She manages to keep her voice smooth and whatever Clarke sees on her face has her squeaking.

“Great!”

 

And that, boys and girls, was how Lexa found herself in Clarke’s sunny apartment, shucking her clothes off while Clarke busied herself with getting her easel and charcoals set up.  Lexa wasn’t embarrassed by her nudity—it was merely the proximity to the woman she wanted to be with. She pulled the clip out of her hair and combed her fingers through the curls.

“Where do you want me?”

Clarke pointed at the antique-looking chaise lounge near the open balcony doors. “You can just lounge on your back against those pillows.”

Lexa nodded and moved to comply, stretching herself out on the crushed red velvet. At least it wasn’t leather. “Like this?” She asked Clarke, raising one arm gracefully above her head. Seeing Clarke’s eyes rove over her bare body, hungrily, had Lexa wishing that she didn’t need to remain still for an unforeseen amount of time.

“Perfect.” Clarke murmured, perching on her stool and picking up a piece of charcoal.

The next hour passed by this way: with Clarke’s eyes studying every curve and bend of her body and Lexa taking the opportunity to really look at Clarke in a way she hadn’t been able to. And if their eyes sometimes met at the same time, well that wasn’t anything to fear. Clarke became utterly involved in the lines she was making on the paper, smudging with her fingers and arm, unconcerned where the charcoal ended up. The breeze that wafted in along with the late afternoon sunlight made her hair dance.

“You look perturbed.”

Clarke backed away from the sketch for a moment, looking at Lexa. “I’m just trying to capture the particular look in your eyes.”

“And what look would that be?”

“One that says you want to kiss me.” She tried to state it nonchalantly, but the twinkle in her eye was giving her away. Lexa allowed the tiniest smile to tug at the side of her mouth.

“Perhaps a closer examination would help?”

Clarke, too, seemed to be trying to press her mouth together tightly to keep from smiling too broadly. “Not now. I’d get too sidetracked and never finish this.”

“But later?” Lexa asked. She was already squeezing her thighs tightly together in anticipation.

“Yes, later.” Clarke promised, and returned her diligence to the drawing. Lexa proceeded to spend the next couple of minutes fantasizing about where those charcoal smudges would end up on her own body. A drawing made life.

 

 

This time, Lexa is the one clutching the headboard and rattling it against the wall.


End file.
